


Little Blade (Or rather, a very short fanfic version of Chapter 6)

by Sylla_Headhunter



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Day 20, I AM DECEASED, Keitor Month 2020, M/M, We have the power of Satan and Keitor on our side, fanfic of a fanfic why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylla_Headhunter/pseuds/Sylla_Headhunter
Summary: Day 20: Little BladeKeith spares another glance at Lotor, sitting as far away as it seems to be virtually possible, posture rigid and composed, calm mask in place. It's not enough to hide the loneliness Keith feels the Prince practically exude, jaw set in a fine line threatening to undo him.Or to put it briefly, I try to do a take on one of my favourite scenes from the earlier chapters of"Little Bladeand because I am TiredTM, it works out,,,, somewhat. I hope. I'm very sorry
Relationships: Keith/Lotor (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71
Collections: Keitor Month 2020





	Little Blade (Or rather, a very short fanfic version of Chapter 6)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilflowerpot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilflowerpot/gifts).



> //I skipped a day again and I even had words, oh WELL//  
> I'm very sorry and I will do my best to make it up to everyone! I just really wanted to do this prompt because "Little Blade" is seriously one of my favourite, if not THE favourite Fic I have ever read. Flower, you're my goddess and this is for you. I'm sorry, I hope I didn't butcher your premise!
> 
> Line directly copied from the fic: “You could simply ask me to leave. As entertaining as you are with your rudimentary verbal cyphers, I would hate to think that my being here is an inconvenience, so I shall excuse myself.” (Little Blade, Chapter 5/6)

Keith spares another glance at Lotor, sitting as far away as it seems to be virtually possible, posture rigid and composed, calm mask in place. It's not enough to hide the _loneliness_ Keith feels the Prince practically exude, jaw set in a fine line threatening to undo him. His fingers, Keith notes, tremble ever so softly before Lotor manages to curl them into a fist, claws digging into his palm.

It pains him to see Lotor like this, he realizes, his breath hitching. He is used to the Prince’s rather grand gestures whenever he starts to explain something about their shared culture, whenever Keith’s thirst for knowledge gets quenched for a second, only to flare up even more at the vast expanse of desert his mind is still filled with concerning his own heritage (the sheer amount of things he has not known about the Galran culture is as of now still baffling to him. It is in these quiet moments in his own mind that Keith realizes he isn’t exactly opposed to the Prince’s presence on the Castle. Far from it).

He isn’t used to an almost subdued, dare he say submissive Lotor, quietly nursing his food in one corner of the room, shutting out the blatant disrespect he suffers from people far younger than he is.

Lance’s guffaw brings his attention back to his friends’  conversation – just in time to completely miss the point yet again.  The others are speaking in riddles, throwing meaningful glances around (towards him and, Keith notices, towards Lotor) and it makes him want to curl in on himself, attempting to forget the fact that he is not included in their raucous laughter,  in their antics. It makes him feel like a stranger in his own skin.

He misses, he realizes after a heartbeat, the anonymity his Blade Uniform gives him. That way, at least, no one can recognize himself.

That way he has gotten closer to someone just like him.

Lotor’s chair scrapes across the floor, startling Keith and no doubt everyone else.

“You could simply ask me to leave. As entertaining as you are with your rudimentary verbal cyphers, I would hate to think that my being here is an inconvenience, so I shall excuse myself.”

There is a hard smile playing across Lotor’s lips and it’s being branded like a weapon, meant to discourage further probing. Keith isn’t deterred as the rest of them are (them, he thinks, head almost tilting to one side, because he is distancing himself even in his thoughts and it’s a jarring kind of thing, feeling that distance like an endless chasm stretched across barren land). He can see a fragile strength in those squared shoulders, one he is painfully familiar with,  and maybe it’s the hidden sense of kinship, maybe it is the estrangement he feels with his former teammates, or maybe, possibly, it is just his will to put on a similar mask to the one the Prince is wearing with his jabs and brittle smile – but Keith lets his chair scrape back as well, standing too fast for any of the others to catch him. 

“I’ll be going to,” he tells them, softly, not bothering to wait for their reactions – he can’t be bothered, actually, not after their disregard of him leaves his heart bruised.

He whisks out of the door, almost barreling into Lotor and Shiro,  the latter throwing him a clearly concerned glance while the former seems to ignore him – but Keith can read his body language like no one else in that room can, and Lotor, to his eyes, is practically screaming impatience and something else Keith can’t decipher. Something that reminds him almost painfully of himself without actually knowing why.

“I can escort him back,” he blurts out and Shiro’s eyebrows knit themselves together tightly.

“I don’t think that-” he begins, but Keith cuts him off, a curt nod relieving Shiro of the duty to finish his sentence.

“I’m fine, Shiro. It’s fine.”

It’s not, his friend (his brother, even) clearly wants to protest, it’s  _not_ because Lotor, for all they know, was close to killing Keith on the spot (except Keith knows he didn’t, he  _knows_ that the Prince hadn’t held his knife with any malicious intent, he just doesn’t know how to explain exactly that).  
Shiro stares at him for long-suffering seconds before finally huffing a breath, tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

“Fine,” he gives in, his metallic arm resting on Keith’s shoulder for a second, squeezing softly. “Be careful, though.”  
Keith gives him a soft of half shrug, hoping it will be all he has to do to convince Takashi Shirogane that he is indeed _fine,_ just like the whole situation is, before turning towards Lotor. The Prince has been waiting this entire time, eyes shifting between the two of them, obviously trying to understand their relationship with each other. Keith squares his shoulders, gazing up to the Half Galran with what he can only guess is a challenging look. 

Lotor squints, head cocked to one side,  and drawls, softly enough, “Is there a reason for this enhanced hostility, other than the fact of me being  subjugated to this farce of a mutual exchange regarding vital information to your own success?”  
He’s tired and restless, Keith can see that, the Prince’s otherwise immaculate body language slipping from his grasp. It makes him realize how  _tired_ he is himself, utterly exhausted beyond belief, and maybe it is the Prince’s weariness reflected back at him or the quiet yearning of finally having someone near him who understands, who  _sees_ him, or maybe it is all of that  but Keith stares straight into Lotor’s unfathomably pale blue eyes and tells him nothing but the truth.

“It’s probably because you took my knife just barely two vargas ago.”

He can pinpoint the exact moment his words sink it, Lotor’s mask shattering  underneath those simple words. Emotions, far too many to name all of them, flicker through those eyes and Keith forgets that they’re standing in a narrow hallway, forgets the sputtering that seems to be the only noise Shiro is capable of right now,  because there is an inexplicable  _weariness_ mingling with everything else crossing Lotor’s face.

“The little Blade,” he breathes, and Keith nods, shouldering past Shiro and throwing a “are you coming?” towards the Galran Prince – who, without a word of protest, matches his obviously longer strides with Keith’s. He is starting to regain his composure but he is still _staring_ quite blatantly, something Keith isn’t used from the Prince. Lotor’s usual demeanor is that much more subtle.  
Apparently, _shocked_ Lotor is something entirely different.

They’re almost back at Lotor’s quarters when the first word leaves his mouth, almost hesitantly.  
“You are not … fully Galra, I presume?”  
Keith shakes his head. “I’m not.”  
He hesitates for a short second, before adding, “I’m more like you.”  
A soft intake of breath. “Indeed you are.”  
Lotor’s voice is subdued, fragile like a newly sheen of ice over troubled water, and Keith dares to look up at him through narrowed eyes. 

“You don’t like that,” he observes quietly, the strange feeling of elation he had felt at his first realization of the Prince being only Half Galran vanishing. Lotor’s eyes find his, startled.

“I ….,” he starts, and falters. It is a strange thing, seeing one of the most eloquent people Keith has ever met fail to produce an entire sentence.

“I always assumed for you to be a child.”

That is not exactly what he had been expecting, and Keith blinks, slouching into the couch as soon as they enter Lotor’s quarters. The Prince hesitates before settling in as well, mouth drawn  in to a tight line.

“I assumed you to be a galran kit. The way your body language enunciates your every whim – it is quite endearing, actually.”  
Keith finds himself shifting uncomfortably – is he that easy to read? Lotor huffs a soft sound of incredulous amusement, one of his long hands coming up to cover his face.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs. “I am not at my most presentable, Little Blade.”  
The nickname feels as jarring in their current situation as it is welcome, and Keith settles deeper into the cushions on each side of him, watching the Prince carefully.

“It’s fine,” he says, and he means it. Lotor hums softly in agreement.

Keith has no idea how long they stay like this, fragile silence between them, but he doesn’t mind. For the first time, he feels his mind work in tandem with another one, even if it might just be his imagination.  
Lotor doesn’t prod. He doesn’t pose questions Keith would rather not answer at the moment. He just sits and listens to the same silence Keith hears all around them.

It’s kind of nice.

  
  



End file.
